


Behind the Curtain

by skylerSlapdash



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, Drama & Romance, F/F, Femdom, Nobles are the worst and must be destroyed except for Bernadetta, Porn with Feelings, Social Anxiety, Spanking, Stalking, Wine, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-12-01 19:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylerSlapdash/pseuds/skylerSlapdash
Summary: After (respectfully) stalking Dorothea for a few months, Bernadetta von Varley presents an issue. (The issue is repression. The solution ends where you'll expect it to end.) Our heroes get sad and then--do they bone? Maybe they'll bone. Who knows?





	Behind the Curtain

Bernadetta lurked. It was just what Bernadettas do, and Dorothea couldn't hold it against her; it must've been hard enough for the poor girl to just leave her room. Sometimes Dorothea would sit quietly in the grounds of Garreg Mach, immersing herself in a dying peace, examining the little objects of the commoners, the workers, the nobodies. Tiny lives that she was increasingly sure would scatter before the blood-dimmed tide of inevitable war.

Somewhere in her thoughts, inevitably, Dorothea would feel a pair of eyes on the back of her head. Sometimes she'd pretend not to notice Bernie, waiting to see who would talk first. Other times--bad days like today today--Dorothea would speak the moment she was sure.

Today was a bad day. Standing in the marketplace, intending to buy more stillkick leaf just in case, she'd heard a snippet of a song she'd sung a few years ago. One of the last performances was for a noble, a particularly vicious noble one. She kept his tooth in a box. There had been scars and damage for them both, and she'd made it out--always made it out, a little mental mantra--but the scars remained. The blackmail made her feel better.

The merchant sang on. Dorothea leaned against an abandoned market stand, feeling nearly sour enough inside that she wanted to tell him. Wouldn't that stir things up, telling him?

Bernadetta coughed. She coughed a lot. Allergies, perhaps.

"Hello, Bernie."

Bernie froze, went "MEEP," but in a lazy, friendly way. The kind of horrified "MEEP" you make when you're really just terrified out of habit and want to get that whole phase out of the way.

You know, like normal teenage soldiers do.

"You're out pretty far from your room today, hmm? I didn't think you'd follow me _this _far." Immediately Dorothea knew that it was a mistake. Bernie stood straight, swallowed, went turtle. And now there was _actual_ anxious Bernie to deal with. Marvelous.

"What's wrong with that?" she stammered, violet hair whipping back and forth as she looked for exits. "Leaving my room, I mean. Not following you! I don't do that. I've never done that, just so you know. But here I am, farther than ever from my room--"

"--not _ever_," said Dorothea, unable to resist.

"--and you're accusing me of, of, of--" Bernie sucked in the air suddenly. Studied her feet. "Okay," she said. "Okay. I'm good. You're good too. Are you good?"

Dorothea thought of war, a vicious noble, a tooth. "I'm good. How are you, Bernie?"

Bernie nodded three times before talking. "I'm good! Things are good right now, my studies are going well, Byleth said I did a good job with prayers, and my romance novel is--" and she shut down like that, wide-eyed and hopeful.

"Glad to hear it, Bernie. And here you are, so far from your room--"

"--not _that_ far from my room--!"

"--just to say hello." Dorothea smiled. It was an Act Two of _The Trembling Rose_ smile, among the most potent in her arsenal. See, it's a plot point in _The Trembling Rose_ that the heroine flashes a brilliant, perfect grin at her love interest. The smile is gorgeous enough to finally get the prince (her lover) of the country to launch a counterattack on their enemies. Edelgard had recently told Dorothea that it was her favorite opera. Dorothea made a point of not thinking too much about that.

"Ha. Ah. Herm. Uhm," said Bernadetta. "No, that's not just it. I would've waited till you were closer if that was just it."

"Really?"

"Yes. I've got a unique issue--maybe not so unique!--I don't know, it's an issue anyway, and I don't know what to _do_ about it, and it seemed like you'd be the person to ask for advice."

"What sort of issue?"

The marketplace roared around them with chants, shouted prices, goods clattering onto wooden stands. Bernadetta looked around, shook her head vigorously, pulled at Dorothea's sleeve. "We can't talk about it here, I'm sorry, can we--?"

"Bernie!" Dorothea pulled back against Bernie, wanting to stick around just in case a merchant put out a few stalks of stillkick for the lean winter months. But her grip had gotten surprisingly strong after all that bow practice. And anyway, there'd be tomorrow, wouldn't there?

There was also the novelty of being pulled by the sleeve by a small cute girl through a bustling marketplace. A delightful experience. Up the winding stairs, stumbling after the surprisingly quick Bernie, turn and turn till they were at Bernadetta's dormitory door.

"Do you feel safer here?" asked Dorothea softly. No one else was around. It seemed safe to ask. "Is that it?"

Bernie shook her head. Yanked her inside.

Dorothea didn't know what to expect from Bernie's room. Perhaps something barren--nailed posters in cheap plaster walls. Or maybe Bernadetta von Varley had drawn all the best artists and architects to her room to decorate her living quarters with only the most beautiful bunches of bullshit imaginable. Who could say when someone like her was so closed off?

After all of that mystery, all that uncertainty, it turned out to be....a room.

Not a bad room. Not a luxurious room. Books aplenty, stacks of them, and the ragged look of them showed that Bernie actually read these things unlike a lot of her fellow nobles. Another reason to like her on a growing list. And it wasn't that big of a mess, either. For someone who never let anybody in, not even maids like the rest of her fellows, the only mess was all the books, the looseleaf paper, the--

\--what was that? Some sloppy pile, covered by the one dirty sheet in the whole dormitory. Dorothea squinted.

"PleaseclosethedoorcouldyouDorothea."

Dorothea took a moment to untangle the words. "Uh, yeah. Of course." She did.

There was a nice old oak rocking chair beside a teetering pile of whirlwind romances that Dorothea was more familiar with than she wanted to admit. Dorothea sat in the chair. Allowed herself a quick kick off the floor--Bernie, of all people, wouldn't mind.

There was a standard-issue monastery bed in the corner of the room next to a pile of unlabeled books and cheap rough pamphlets. Bernadetta wasn't that short but she scrunched up on her bed in an S-shape, kicking her legs, fiddling her fingers. Looking from Dorothea to the closed door and back. And again. And back. And again....

"What's--" started Dorothea

"I need you to tell me how to do these things," said Bernadetta. "The things that you do. I need your _help_. I can't figure it out."

"I don't--"

"Or something," she said, leaping up from the bed, face red and wet with anxious sweat. "Just tell me how to get rid of it, I don't know, whatever you can tell me, I'm losing my mind! I'll just, I'll see Caspar training and it'll be too much and I'll want to go to sleep, except I can't sleep! I just keep thinking about training with Caspar, watching him train, and he's watching me because I don't know if I mentioned it--stupid Bernie--but he'd be watching me too, and then I keep thinking about that too." Bernie beamed too tightly, threw out her hands. "Is that, uh. Is that husbands?"

"Not necess--"

"_Of course it isn't_," Bernadetta shrieked, kicked over a pile of books. One spilled open in front of Dorothea. There were some words in there. Mostly just...you could call them anatomical pictures, if you were a prude. "Because if it was husbands I would've been excited about it because everybody told me I should be excited about it, father told me that I'd be so happy, and I wasn't happy about _that_ but I was happy about _this_ and anyway, it isn't like _wives _were included in all of this. But guess what?"

"What?" she asked. Spoke softly.

Bernie faced the walls of her room. Dorothea wondered for a moment how well Bernie knew all the details of the craggy walls. Then she spoke. "It's them too. Everybody. It's all I can think about, and it's eating me up inside. It gets in the way if I'm training or if I'm writing--and it isn't like I have much time to write these days--and this _feeling_ is all that I can think about."

Dorothea waited. Bernie didn't speak. "What's the feeling?"

"I get wet," said Bernadetta. "Down there. To make it easy, to simplify all of it because it's so much, it doesn't stop, and I most of all want to do something about it." Sniffing. "I know what people do, kind of. They hide it behind metaphors a lot of the time or they get all fancy with words. Manhood and womanhood, quint, a good rogering. I want it and I'm scared of it all at once. I know that good proper girls don't do those things. I just don't know if I want to be a good proper girl. I want to be free like you are."

Something quiet and furious uncoiled in Dorothea's chest.

"Which is why you came to me," said Dorothea stiffly.

"Yes, I guess so."

Dorothea shot up from the rocking chair. It clattered against the wall, rocked back, hit the wall again, back. "Bernie, I know you don't mean it like this, but what you're saying about me? It's not nice. I think I'd like to go now."

Bernadetta's eyes darted back and forth wildly. "But--but you're always with boys and girls, and I thought you'd know what to do with--how to--?"

"So I'm a slut, then?" Dorothea snapped. "Fine. I'm a slut. I've been called worse things. But that doesn't mean I have to sit here and listen to your, your _accusations_."

"It's not--I didn't mean it--" her voice rising higher and higher "--please don't cry!" she shrieked, folded up on her bed.

"I'm going now," said Dorothea, glancing back at Bernie from the door. Her voice shook. Bernadetta held her legs to her chest. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"C-come back?"

Dorothea sighed--"No, Bernie. That's not the one."--and walked out the door.

* * *

Hours later, Dorothea sat in her own dormitory staring at the label of a just-uncorked bottle of wine. Imperial Year 1132. Good vintage, and now she was to drink it alone. Outside the cicadas droned in the sunset. Inside Dorothea considered playing the role of Manuela and passing the evening in her cups. Fuck it, why not? Wasn't like she had anything else going tonight now.

After storming from Bernie's dormitory, Dorothea went through her usual routine of make-up, perfume, wash, practiced smiles in the mirror. And then onto the date, a bottle of fine 1132 in hand to meet the boy for the night. A noble in a fine well-furnished room in Garreg Mach--like many nobles, he kicked cash to servants for private time in a most ancient and lovely castle.

Dorothea walked into this most ancient room--a room that she knew, because it was a favorite for social climbing minor nobles because the draft made it easier to rent--and saw the guy. He was...normal. There was nothing wrong with him. One frizzy faced pubescent boy, dotted with acne, cut from the same fabric as all the rest. Smirking at her imperiously.

She knew his name, sort of. Almost. Usually she could recall a few minutes into the date. But tonight she gazed into his chapped lips and acne and fucking terminally affluent boredass expression, and she said "I left a candle lit in my room. You're wonderful. Goodbye, don't talk to me again."

And he would, she thought as she'd raced downstairs, past guards and servants. They always talked to her if they wanted to.

So free, so free. That's what Bernadetta had said. Whore or slut or social climber. Crest breeder. Oh so free.

She'd thrown the doors open (how operatic cue the applause) and quickly walked across the empty courtyard to her own dormitory--no running, don't want anyone to think that something is _wrong _or anything, and definitely bite down the urge to scream! Can't cause a fuss!

_I'm more like her than I thought. Got to play the good girl_, thought Dorothea, pouring herself a glass of 1132 in her finest goblet. It was tempting to just drink from the bottle, but, well. Perhaps she'd consider it when she became Manuela's age. For now, why not enjoy the finery?

It was stronger and more bitter than she'd expected. Shock to the system. She liked it, and before long she'd finished half the goblet. Did it count as rebellious to chug a sipping wine? Did she care?

Dorothea wiped her mouth on her sleeve--take _that_ incredibly nice fabric that would be a huge pain to clean and she'd be worrying about it for the next few days trying to figure out the quickest way to deal with that whole situation--and slammed her goblet to the table so hard that she almost didn't hear it--the knock on the door.

But there it was again. So soft that it could've just been a possum rattling around on the roof.

Perhaps it was the noble boy. More than likely it was his servant begging her to reschedule, presenting her with gold or diamonds (which would more than cover the stain on her sleeve, admittedly). Except the knocks were so slow and feeble, and through the door...no, it couldn't be, but it had to be.

Dorothea smiled, nearly laughed--caught herself. Nope. She was supposed to be angry still, so she stood up straight and tall before opening the door to see...well, of course it was her.

Bernadetta von Varley on the steps of her dormitory, her back to Dorothea, shaking her purple hair back and forth, muttering to herself.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid! What were you thinking, Bernie? She doesn't want to talk to you. Nobody wants to talk to you. Too weird. Go home and lock the door. It's a mistake. She never liked you, not at all. Nuisance."

"Bernie?"

She didn't hear. "Of course you'd mess this up, why do you always mess things up? Are you just that mean? Go home, what's the _point_, even? It's a waste. I'm such a waste."

"Please, Bernie...." Dorothea rested her hand on Bernadetta's shoulder and--

"MEEP!" Bernadetta whirled around, covered her face, and nearly fell straight down the stairs.

None of it was conscious--Dorothea reached out, grabbed, found her shoulders, gripped.

Pulled a blushing, anxious Bernie up to the doorway and inside of her dormitory before shutting the door.

* * *

There really were candles in Dorothea's room. An almost Phantom of the Opera level of candles, actually, because there was comfort for her in such theatricality. Flickering flames, melting wax, a bottle of wine. She had planned on lighting them with minor magic upon bringing the noble to her most humble dormitory (and taking a bite of stillkick) to set the mood for another long performance.

Okay, actually, a very short performance, usually. But it's good to be prepared.

Now Bernadetta sat in the chair she'd planned for Mister Noble and squirmed. Looked at everything but Dorothea. The gorgeous editions of ancient plays, a couple tasteful landscape paintings, the bottle of wine and glasses gleaming in the candlelight.

"This is nice," said Bernadetta. "Your dormitory, I mean. And you! I'm here because of you, not your dormitory. I think you know that."

"I do," said Dorothea. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I'm not allowed to--" she started, paused, seemed to think about it. "Okay. Thank you, Dorothea."

"Mm." She was careful not to pour too much; Dorothea doubted that Bernie had much experience with alcohol. "I can't believe you came all the way here to talk to me."

"It's not _that_ far," she said. Sniffed the wine. "Smells bad." Sipped it anyway. "I didn't realize it wasn't that far, actually. Everything seems farther in my head. Not that it matters how far away you were, I was gonna walk all the way anyway. Because I know what words I should've said."

They spoke at the exact same time.

"I accept your apology," said Dorothea.

"_YOUAREREALLYCUTEANDILIKEYOU_," said Bernadetta.

"You wh--"

"--_ANDWHENIWASMAKINGANEXCUSETOTALKTOYOUICAMEUPWITHTHATANDYEAHOKAYTRUEBUTAAAAAAAAAAA--"_

"Bernie--?"

"_\--AAAAAAAAAAAA--"_

Bernadetta was squeaking, crying, and blushing furiously at the exact same time.

"Okay, Bernie, calm d--"

"Yeah! Okay, I will. I'm calm." She took another sip. "I feel very calm now. And warm? What's in this stuff?"

"Wine," said Dorothea.

"Hmm." Bernie nodded thoughtfully. Then she snatched the bottle and swigged.

"You _can't--_"

Bernie tore herself away from the mouth of the bottle. "Hmm?" She set the bottle down. "Sorry, I was focusing on the taste. 'Sbad."

Dorothea snorted. "Isn't it? I just drink it because all the nobles do."

"It does feel good."

"Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. Are you feeling okay? Dizzy? Sick?"

"No," said Bernie. "Should I? Am I doing this wrong?"

_You kind of are_, thought Dorothea, but she bit her tongue. "You said a bunch of stuff a minute ago." Dorothea downed the rest of her glass. "What was that?"

"Uh."

"Just say it. I don't know what you're expecting from me--whether I'll be mad or upset or I'll tell your parents or whatever. Bernadetta. I'm your friend. And if you want--listen, I--"

Bernadetta jerked upright and took Dorothea's hands, though her own hands shook. "I wasn't good to you. I made up an excuse to see you! But it was because I _wanted_ to see you, I _like_ you, and I'm sorry. If you don't feel the same way about me, that's okay. I wouldn't either. But I needed you to know, and I hope we can stay friends even after all of this."

"Just friends?"

Bernie lowered her lips to the back of Dorothea's hand. "Whatever you want," she whispered, tickling Dorothea's skin. The air was thick with the smell of wine. "You always seem to know what you want."

"Is that how it looks?"

"To me. What do you want?"

Dorothea slipped her hands from Bernie's grasp and held her chin. Bernadetta gasped. Dorothea stared into the twilight of her eyes, felt how soft her skin was.

Dorothea told her what she wanted.

For a moment Bernie stood frozen, wide-eyed, as Dorothea pressed their lips together. Then she closed her eyes, moaned, pressed hard back. She tasted like sweets. Dorothea's hand crept around Bernie's back as she pulled away to leave frantic hungry kisses across the opera singer's neck, up to her cheeks, to her lips, anywhere at all. Dorothea wrapped her arm around the small of the archer's back and pulled, yanking her into her lap on the sturdy wooden chair, Bernadetta's legs spread over Dorothea's thighs.

"Rough!" Bernie squeaked out between kisses.

"Too rough?"

"Nope!"

"Really?" Dorothea planted a few hard kisses down her neck, pushed teeth into her skin. Bernadetta moaned. "So you _like_ it rough?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Dorothea bit. "Y-yes."

"Like how?"

"Like, like, hhhh--there, that's good." Nape of the neck. "Harder. Yeah, please, that's good. Y-hnn. Oh." Bernadetta tore herself away, looked Dorothea in the eyes and hissed-- "Kiss me now."

Dorothea took Bernadetta by the back of her scalp and pulled her in, scraping her fingernails into the fabric of Bernie's uniform. Bernadetta's hot breath tingled against Dorothea's lips and neck as she pulled away for breath before diving back into her, growing dizzy with lust and admiration of this girl, this strange young girl from a noble family who needed Dorothea like no one else did, needed her to hold and adore and promise and guide. All the while Dorothea thought of the warmth of Bernie's thighs rubbing and shifting atop her own as they kissed and turned and gripped one another's backs to kiss deeper, never enough, always deeper.

Then Bernadetta leaned away in the chair, pushing her back--always gently--and there was a quiet moment where Dorothea wondered if something had gone wrong. The wild smile on Bernie's face dispelled that.

"I read a book once," said Bernadetta, still panting raggedly. "Boarding school in it. Girls would, uh, um, ah." Dorothea stole a kiss. "They'd spank each other for fun. Is that what you do? I mean, is that what _we _do?"

Dorothea laughed, deep and throaty and dark. "It's not about what we do. It's about what you want. Bernie." She tilted her head. "Is that what you want?"

Bernadetta nodded furiously.

"Okay, then," said Dorothea. "Going up." Standing up, really, with Bernie turning somehow even redder as Dorothea stood from the chair, lifting Bernie easily from her thighs and setting her down. Before snatching Bernadetta's hand and yanking her to the bed.

"So," Dorothea continued. "You like rough stuff. That's great, Bernadetta. I do too. Sometimes I like to take it. Sometimes I like to dish it out. Always, I like to check whether me and my friends are on the same page. If you want, I'll push your face against this mattress and give you the spanking of a lifetime. But if you want me to stop, you can make me whenever you want. Just give me one word to say, right now, and I'll stop when you want."

"Okay, um. And you'll stop for sure if I say it?"

"Mmhm."

"And you _won't _stop if it's anything else? You aren't--you aren't going to cover my mouth, are you?"

"No."

"Okay," she said. "The word is, um, ah, I guess it's, let me think, red?"

Dorothea smirked. "You know more about this than you're pretending, don't you?"

"You know I read a lot! You _know_ I--MEEP--"

Just like that, Bernadetta's face was mushing against the mattress and her skirt was at her ankles--she kicked it off. Dorothea smirked at her nearly bare ass, bulging beneath her black undershorts. Oh, it would've been so much fun to mention the dark stains between Bernadetta's legs. Call her out for being so wet. Doing that would probably make poor Bernie explode, though, and not in the fun way(s).

Instead Dorothea simply (gently) rolled Bernadetta's undershorts to her shaking knees and waited. Watched, listened. Then Dorothea reached under her bed for her favorite paddle--knew where every toy was, didn't even need to look at them--and held it in the air. Bernadetta tensed.

"You can say the word whenever you want," said Dorothea. "But I won't take anything _but_ that word. You can say anything you want. I'll keep going till you really, _really _tell me to stop."

Bernie nodded into the cushions. Dorothea smirked. Raised her paddle, swung--

\--Bernadetta's nails dug into the bed--

\--Dorothea stopped centimeters away from her bare ass. Bernadetta's pussy gushed down her thighs, juices gleaming in the candlelight.

"The angle's wrong," Dorothea lied. Bernie clutched at the sheets.

Dorothea swung. Kept it soft, a kind introduction. Bernadetta gasped, MEEP'd. Dorothea drew back. Pink crept across Bernie's pale white ass. She shoved herself out.

Again. Bernie pushed out. Paddle let out a lovely cracking noise. Bernie moaned. Dorothea felt so hot.

Again. Out. Crack. Moan. Wiggle.

Dorothea whacked, again and again. Bernadetta met each slap, the hard wood painting her pale and eager ass slowly red. They were a slow and clumsy machine, dealing out hits, receiving punishment. Turning molten red and dripping lubricant. Faster and faster, she slapped the hard wood against Bernadetta's soft ass more gently than the latter could know--Dorothea had experience after all, knew her newbies, but that just meant that there were delicious unknown frontiers waiting for Bernie.

In the end Bernadetta was moaning hard enough and loud enough that Dorothea considered taking mercy.

Briefly. A few more slaps first.

"Hn. Fuck. Fuck!"

"Improper language. I'll crack you again."

"Plea--"

CRACK

"--se!"

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

Dorothea laughed. She dropped her paddle at the foot of the bed and ran her hands up. Up Bernadetta's bare ass to her back, crept her fingertips to her neck, to her cheeks. Eye-to-eye now, green and grey. "Is this enough like your books? You came all the way to me. This is what you want?"

Bernadetta panted. Bernadetta moaned. Bernadetta whispered half-formed lusts into Dorothea's ear.

"I don't know about _that_," said Dorotha. She dragged her fingers in circles over Bernie's red and stinging bum. "I'll be sure to have it out for you next time. If you want a next time."

Bernadetta sniffled and nodded.

"Do you think I should stop tormenting you and give you want you want? Because I do know what you want, Bernie." Her fingers trailed down Bernadetta's ass, lower--there, wet and slick on her fingers, _so _wet. Gently Dorothea turned Bernie's head to face her and licked her own slick-wet fingers. "You know that I know. Give me the word and I'll throw you back on the bed. I'll spread you wide and give you an introduction you'll never forget."

"Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease--"

Dorothea threw her back on the bed. Dorothea spread her wide. Kissed her breasts and lingered there for a moment, sucking and flicking with her tongue, pinching the other hard with her hand. It would be so tempting to spend time tormenting her more, more, more--but Dorothea was a talented lover, and kept her promises. Besides, with how heavily Bernie panted, how much she already squirmed with need, Dorothea wondered how much more time there'd be to play around before the poor girl came or just went insane.

And god _damn _it did Dorothea want to eat pussy tonight.

Kissing lower, lower, past Bernadetta's belly button. Down to first tufts of violet hair, trailing kisses as her fingers wrapped around Bernadetta's lean and muscular thighs, digging her nails in just enough to make Bernie feel hungered for. Spreading her gently before coming upon her upper lips, kissing them with uncharacteristic sloppiness, pulling back--looking up at her to see if she was looking back. She wasn't; her neck craned away at some part of the ceiling. Anxiety or passion?

A smile crawled across Dorothea's face. _I'll make you look_. 

Dorothea lowered her lips millimeters away from Bernadetta's clit. She breathed out hotly against her pussy. Bernadetta moaned and Dorothea pressed her lips around her swollen clit. Bernie shuddered, and Dorothea checked if she was looking. Of course Bernadetta was _now_. She smiled for the audience, faced Bernadetta's gorgeous soaked pussy, and pressed her tongue against her button. Bernie yelped. Dorothea sucked. Went slow at first--she wasn't used to it after all. Slowly she pressed her index finger into the folds of Bernadetta's pussy, sucking and flicking her tongue all the while. One knuckle. Two.

The opera singer curled her finger. Bernie _sang_. 

Another curl. Dorothea suckled at her juice-drenched clit. Bernadetta's pussy gushed and she dug her fingernails into Dorothea's scalp--so hard, so much harder than Dorothea expected, but she could get used to it. Curl and suck and feel her fingers pulling her tight against that wet cunt, needing a hunger that Dorothea was always so ready to give. Her middle finger pressed Bernadetta's tight pussy open, stretched her out as she curled.

Dorothea kissed her clit, pulled back, flicked the tip of her tongue back and forth. Bernie groaned, mashed Dorothea's face hard against her wetness. She thrust her soaked groin against Dorothea's face, matched in time with every curl of the finger, her breath nearly as quick as the singer's flicking tongue. The steady rhythm, the taste of her. Hypnotizing.

"Dorothea, I, please keep going, I think--I think please? Don't answer, don't stop, I--keep, please--ahhhhh--"

She didn't stop. Her answer: another third finger. Fit just fine into her soaked hole and all three hit that sweet spot behind her clit as Dorothea sucked the front, brushing it up and down with her tongue. Bernadetta lost her words. Didn't need them anymore. She just slammed herself against Dorothea's sweet fingers, relished her warm mouth, tingled against the hot breath of her nostrils.

Bernie's legs locked. She pushed herself against Dorothea, made a hissing sound that turned into a cry that turned into a long, ragged shriek of pleasure. The contractions rocked her body, squeezed Dorothea's fingers together--she pulled back, fell against Bernadetta and whispered "Your first time, come for me right now, your very first--" before locking lips and drinking her cries of orgasm, rubbing herself against her bare, sweat-drenched body, feeling every tremble and twitch of Bernie's hard-iron deceptively muscled body. Breaking from the kiss, listening to her wordless moans, hearing her name buried somewhere inside of them.

Holding still.

So still.

A kiss on Dorothea's cheek soft enough to slay angels.

"I'm sorry," Dorothea replied.

"You are? What did you do? Did you do something?"

"It's just," said Dorothea, laughing, "you're going to be so sore in the morning."

"I'm okay with that," said Bernadetta. She smiled. "I kind of _like_ that."

"You do?" Dorothea rubbed her forehead; it was like the real world was starting to assert itself. Breaking through the cloud of Imperial 1132 or, more likely, the beautiful naked girl and the paddling and the head and the earth crumbling orgasm?

"Yeah," said Bernie, yawning. "I liked it a lot. Didn't you?"

Dorothea wrapped her tight. "I did. I think I needed it. Needed you. You've been following me around and all that stuff all this time. I'm glad you did. You were weird but I know what you meant now. I'm glad you came to me tonight. Tomorrow morning--oh, where do you want to sleep? We can do here if you like. I...I kind of like cuddling. Do you like cuddling? I bet you do, but I get it if you want to go back to your room! I know how much you love it. And we don't have class tomorrow, do we, so if you want we could spend the day together. There's a lot that I haven't talked about and--"

Bernadetta snored. Dorothea sank down into the covers. Bernie's head fell on her shoulder and Dorothea just. Experienced it for a little while. The way she pressed herself so hard without wrapping her arms around no matter how much Dorothea wished she would, no matter how much she wanted to take her hands and drape them over her stomach.

Still, though. Dorothea closed her eyes tight, turned, pressed her butt against Bernadetta's groin. She thrust absently back.

Dorothea sighed. Still wet. Wonderful as it was, there'd been no release. It would've been an easy thing to pull herself away and finish things off, ease that tension. Maybe use a toy--she had enough toys that she forgot about a few of them--and make things special.

And yet.

She clung.

Dorothea wiggled into Bernadetta.

She stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ^_^ I hope to write more FE3H content soon-ish! In the meantime, you can Bernadettaly stalk [my Twitter account, where I share some smut and a Lot of shitposting!](https://twitter.com/skyler_slapdash)


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